


Better Than Dreaming

by mitslits



Series: Prompts [34]
Category: Kingsman: The Secret Service (2015)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 20:41:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,401
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5262848
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mitslits/pseuds/mitslits
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>how about sameage!hartwin living in the same neighbourhood and growing up together? And admitting their feeling on the day of their prom?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Better Than Dreaming

**Author's Note:**

> A prompt that I turned into a birthday fic. Cause two birds, one stone and all that.

It’s a gradient, their neighborhood. One end is white, three story mansions with pristine lawns decorated with unnecessary ornaments that somehow are always seen as essential in the eyes of the owners. Travel down the road (a considerably long one, honestly) and one will find themselves in a completely different part of town. This end is filled with tiny, cramped flats, people packed in like sardines, rubbing shoulders with no lawns or decorative ornaments to speak of unless rubbish that’s missed the bin counts. 

The Harts live at one end, the Unwins at another. 

Harry Hart is five years old when he first meets Gary Unwin, exactly at the halfway point between their two houses. The neighborhood park lies exactly in the center and it’s a day for going to the park. 

“I wanna walk ‘im, mum, please? Just this once! Pleasepleaseplease,” Eggsy whines, bouncing up and down on his toes, fingers already curled around JB’s leash which is secured more firmly in his mother’s grasp. 

Michelle closes her eyes and breathes out slowly through her nose, gathering up her patience which has been worn thin by the same plea she’s heard the whole way to the park. “For the last time, Eggsy, _no_. You’ll get to walk JB when you’re a little older.” 

“Oh, let the boy have a chance,” Lee says, draping his arm around Michelle’s shoulders. “He’s a strong lad. I’m sure there won’t be a problem, will there, Eggsy?” He turns his beaming, innocent smile from his wife to his son. 

Eggsy turns puppy dog eyes that could compete with JB’s own on his mum, teeth gnawing at his bottom lip with anticipation. “Yah, ‘m strong enough, mum. Promise. Please?” He gives the leash a bit of a tug. 

At the urging of both her husband and her son (and JB, who’s tugging at his restraints, ready to stretch his legs), Michelle finally relents, relinquishing hold of the leash to Eggsy. “A’right, but wrap it around your hand a few times and stick close, yeah? You’ve just got to be-”

The second JB feels the grip on the leash loosen he’s off like a shot, leather wrapped twice around Eggsy’s tiny hand. With a yelp, he’s unbalanced, stumbling off after the pug as it races away. 

“Careful,” Michelle mutters as Lee dissolves into laughter behind her. She swats his arm. “Go rescue your son. This is your fault, you know.” 

Eggsy is still being tugged around the park, mostly at the mercy of his curious pet. He holds on grimly, determined not to let him run away. “Stop, JB, stop!” he shouts when he realizes the pug is barreling straight towards another little boy. “You’ve gotta st-”

It’s too late. Harry Hart gets 15 pounds of pug launching into his legs and he topples over backwards with a startled cry, buried under a furry, slobbery mass. 

This at least gives Eggsy the chance to catch up with the runaway and he rushes forwards, gripping JB’s collar with both hands and hauling him backwards despite his whines of protest. 

“Sorry, bruv.” To the boy sprawled on the grass. “Bad dog!” To JB (who doesn’t look particularly set off about it). 

But the boy only laughs and sits up, wiping at the drool on his face. “It’s alright, I like dogs.” He gets to his feet and adjusts his shirt which has gotten a little rumpled by its unexpected encounter with the ground. “I’m Harry,” he says, sticking out his hand. 

“Harry,” Eggsy repeats with a grin. “I’m Eggsy.” He reaches out to shake his hand, inadvertently dropping JB’s leash. 

And isn’t that a treat. The little pug takes off again, small legs pumping as he races over the grass. 

Harry instantly drops Eggsy’s hand, taking right off after him. “Come on, Eggsy! I’ll bet we can catch him.” 

With a grin Eggsy gets to running. 

-

It’s a bit odd for Michelle, watching a rambunctious, eight-year-old Eggsy bang into the flat followed immediately by a smartly-dressed, well-mannered, eight-year-old Harry Hart. It had taken months for her to let him come over at all given the disparity between the home he was used to the and the home she could show off. But then Lee had passed and she wasn’t going to deny Eggsy the closest friend he had. He was far more important than her pride. 

“How’s your mum and dad, Harry?” she asks, shutting the door behind him. 

“They’re very well, Mrs. Unwin. And you?” 

She opens her mouth to respond, but Eggsy scoffs and tugs at Harry’s sleeves. “C’mon, Harry, wanna show you that new game, remember?” 

Michelle shoos them off, making for the kitchen where the kettle is already sitting, ready to make tea. “You boys go off and have fun. Tea will be ready in a few,” she assures them. 

“Thanks, mum!” 

“Thank you, Mrs. Unwin!” 

The door shuts behind them and Michelle shakes her head slightly as she sets the water to boil. An odd pair, they are. But she isn’t complaining. 

-

“Mum’s gettin’ married,” Eggsy confesses, digging the toe of his shoe into the sand spread underneath the swings. The park is mostly empty, kids trickling out as the sun sets, shadows stretching out to overtake them. 

Harry sets his own swing to swaying gently, dragging his foot back and forth, scoring a path through the sand. “Oh, yes? What’s he like?” 

Eggsy just shrugs, worrying at his bottom lip. “Seems nice, I guess. Only been four years, though, ya know? Since dad…” He trails off, neither needing nor wanting to continue on that train of thought. 

Silence settles in between them until Harry clears his throat. “What’s his name?” 

“Dean Baker? Nothin’ interestin’,” Eggsy sighs out, twisting his swing first to one side than the other. “Ain’t even gonna get a brother or sister or nothin’. Just him.” 

Harry scoffs. “You don’t need a brother,” he says, a touch indignantly. 

Eggsy glances up, brow furrowed, brings his swing to a stop. “What do ya mean? Ain’t like I’ve got one already or anythin’.” 

“Well, you’ve got me,” Harry protests, feigning offense. The effect is somewhat ruined by the teasing smile that spreads over his lips a second later. 

Snorting derisively, Eggsy shakes his head. “You ain’t my brother,” he points out. 

“What am I then?” Harry asks as his hand flies over his heart and he rears back so dramatically that he slips out of the swing and lands on his back with a thud. 

Eggsy tries not to laugh at the sight of Harry flat out on the ground, legs still tangled up in the actual swing. “An idiot, apparently,” he teases, pushing to his feet. He offers a hand down to Harry. 

Harry can’t help but feel a twinge of satisfaction as Eggsy helps haul him to his feet. That’s the first smile he’s seen from him that day. 

-

Eggsy’s head thuds into the side of his mattress, back pressed up against the frame, but he can’t bring himself to care. Harry’s fingers are tangled in his hair, Harry’s lips are crushed against his own, Harry’s knee is pushing between his legs. 

“Wanted this for so long,” Eggsy pants through kiss-swollen lips when they part for air. He doesn’t relax his hold on Harry’s shirt, afraid that he’ll evaporate if he does. 

Harry chuckles, the sound deep and rich and everything Eggsy has ever wanted to hear. “We’ve been wasting time, then,” he murmurs, reaching forwards to recapture his lips. 

Harry’s hand trails down his chest to the button of his jeans, flicks it open, starts unzipping them-

And Eggsy wakes, sheets tangled up around his legs and dampened with more than just sweat. He sits up, groans, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and tries desperately to drive the dream away. It isn’t the first he’s had and he’s positive it won’t be the last. It’s getting to the point where he can’t even look Harry in the eyes anymore and he hates himself for it. 

If only he wasn’t sick like this, then he wouldn’t have to worry about ruining anything. He strips the sheets from his bed and tosses them in the washer; he’ll worry about them later. Sighing heavily he collapses back onto his mattress, burying his face in his pillow. 

Friends since they were five and now, eleven years later, he’s going to throw all of that away because of his stupid subconscious. 

He rolls onto his back, stares up at the ceiling through the darkness. “I fuckin’ hate lovin’ you, Harry,” he whispers into the black. 

*

Harry’s hands skim over every inch of Eggsy’s body, memorizing him, learning him in a way nobody else ever will. And every place his fingers go his lips follow, brushing over his skin feather-light.

The way Eggsy arches up into his touch is delicious, inviting him to do more, go further. He laughs breathlessly as Eggsy hauls him up to his mouth, kissing him as if he never wants to stop. Harry would be okay with that, he thinks. If time was nothing but kissing Eggsy that would be enough.

“Harry,” Eggsy breathes.

“Harry,” Eggsy repeats, slightly louder.

“Harry, do you hear me?” Eggsy asks with his mother’s voice.

With a jolt, Harry’s eyes fly open and he finds his mother staring at him from the doorway, one eyebrow raised slightly. “You’re going to be late for school,” she informs him coolly.

Harry scrubs sleep away from his eyes, rakes a hand through his untamed curls. “I’ll make it on time,” he promises and she leaves, closing the door behind her.

And he would have made it on time. But he has a dream to finish, because it’ll never be more than a dream.

-

“You actually have a prom?” Harry asks, a little incredulous. The differences, the thinks, between private and public educations.

Eggsy nods, rolling his eyes. “Yeah, but I ain’t even goin’,” he says.

The surprise on Harry’s face is genuine. Eggsy is a socialite; he thrives on the company of his classmates. And, given his behavior at every party they’ve ever been to together, he also thrives on awkward dancing. He’s practically tailored for the prom and now he’s- “Not going? Why on earth not?”

Seeming slightly uncomfortable by the inquiry, Eggsy squirms slightly, shrugs one shoulder. “Don’t have a date. Everyone knows you can’t go to prom without a date, bruv,” he says, staring at the ground instead of his friend.

“I’ll go,” Harry offers before he can stop himself. As soon as the words are out he wants to take them back; they’re far too revealing, but it’s also far too late.

Eggsy does look up at him then, mouth twisted into a skeptical grin. “You? Yeah, right. That’d be somethin’, wouldn’t it, you showin’ up posh an’ all.”

He could back out. He could. Right now. Brush it off as a joke, Eggsy’s given him the perfect chance. But Harry wouldn’t be Harry if he took the easy way out. “I was being serious, Eggsy. If you really _need_ a date to go, which is ridiculous by the way, then I’ll go with you.”

For a moment Eggsy just stares back at him, mouth hanging slightly open and filling Harry’s head with exactly the kind of thoughts that make this such a bad idea. Then a grin bright enough to blast away any doubts splits over his face and he throws his arms around Harry, tugging him in for a hug. “Thanks, Harry,” he mumbles into his shoulder.

Harry wraps his arms around him in return, allowing himself to pretend, just for that moment.

*

This was a mistake, just as he’d known it would be. Harry knows absolutely nobody here except for Eggsy and he worries he’s being too clingy. He lingers at the very edge of the group of friends that swarms Eggsy a few minutes after they get there, relegating himself to a relatively quiet corner a bit after that. It nettles him a little bit, but this was never really about him. He’s done all this for Eggsy, after all. If he’s enjoying himself then it’s worth it.

What he doesn’t expect is his ‘date’ sidling up to him not even two songs later with a ‘was wonderin’ where you’d gone’ as a greeting.

Harry turns to him. “What are you doing over here? You’re supposed to be out there,” he says, nodding to the dance floor with his head.

Eggsy frowns. “Supposed to be with you, bruv. You bein’ my date an’ all.”

The laugh Harry forces out is far more bitter than he intends. “Fake date, remember? I’m only here so you don’t look unattached,” he reminds him. He’s taken a bit aback by the look Eggsy shoots him. He seems almost… angry. But Harry can’t think of a reason why he should be so upset about the truth. “…Eggsy?”

“Fuck it. I ain’t… I want you to be here, Harry. Not as a fake date or nothin’ either. I want…”

Eggsy means to say _you to be my date_. He really does. But somewhere between his brain and his mouth some single gets jammed and all he says is “I want you.” 

There isn’t any indication that Eggsy is lying. Therefore, Harry comes to the conclusion that he is, in fact, telling the truth. Eggsy wants him. Before he has the chance to talk himself out of it (or even think about it, really), Harry reaches out, one hand winding around Eggsy’s waist, the other cradling the back of his head and he kisses him. 

It’s a thousand times better than his dreams. He never could have dreamed up the way Eggsy practically melts against him, the softness of his lips, the hitch in his breath as their bodies press flush together. It’s difficult to imagine perfection.

When they finally break apart they stare at each other, blue-green eyes drilling into whiskey brown, memorizing the way the other looks. Then they collapse into breathless laughter, still pressed together. Harry rests his forehead on Eggsy’s, hand sliding from the back of his head around to cup his cheek. 

“I love you, Eggsy.” 

“Love you too, Harry.” 

This time there’s no waking up to soiled sheets or scolding mothers. There’s only a slow song coming on and Eggsy pulling Harry out onto the dance floor.

 


End file.
